𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝑨𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑, peter pevensie

𝒊𝒊 . . . the latin translator

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐎𝐔𝐓 of bed with a loud bang as her body collided with the hard-oak wood floor, by the sheer level of shock she'd suddenly received from that odd dream. The splashing of the rain on the window, like music to the girl's ears, seemed to calm her right down, so Charlotte dragged her tired self over to the wardrobe, and pulled out some trousers and a thick jumper. Her wellington boots and waterproof coat were already by the back door. She wandered lazily to the bathroom to have a wash, brush her teeth, and get dressed.

The red head couldn't be bothered to go through the effort of yanking the hair brush through the tangled curls, so she just tied it up in a quick plait. She decided to just brush it later when she actually had the time. Charlotte wanted to get out before anybody could see her, it was clear that the shock of having four strangers in the large house hadn't completely settled with her yet.

She had stepped outside into the rain, and almost immediately, felt all of her previous worries wash away. She had decided to take a walk around the grounds by the main house, because Betty didn't like the rain, and she did not want to be to far away from any door to inside. It was clear that it would be a while until this storm ended.

Puddles started to form bellow her rubber-clad feet, and then all sense of any remaining self-control was lost as she started splashing around like a mad woman, until she was frozen cold to the core. Charlotte wadded her way through the gathering mud back to the door she came out of, and she passed the window to the drawing room on the second floor, where all four of the guests were most likely lounging around doing nothing.

The girl was seriously considering throwing something at the window to get somebodies attention. Whoever it was, she didn't actually care. But the noise would be deafeningly loud, and there was a very high chance a smashed window could be playing a part.

Speaking of deafeningly loud, Macready would have Charlotte's head if the old bat knew she was out there, but she wasn't really that worried, the girl had her own excuses. She splashed her way back through the newly formed pools of rain water, and let her mind wonder to anything she found interesting. The phrase 'why did it have to be four children' was making a loop around Charlotte's brain, re-assuring herself that it meant nothing, but the never ending train of thought was so very rudely interrupted.

"Charlotte Konstantinova Kirke," Mrs Macready's voice bounced and echoed off of the walls, "Why is there mud all over the floor? It took me the whole of yesterday morning to get that clean! Go and get changed too, a lady should never wear, ugh, trousers." The house keeper shuddered at the thought before continuing, "Brush your hair as well, it's so windswept that it looks like you've been stood out in the middle of that storm!"

'That's because I have.'

She didn't actually say this, however, in fear of having the grip she had on her ear increase more, so settled for "Yes Mrs Macready." Grumbling, apologising to her. Macready let go of the ear that she had been holding, though Charlotte hadn't realised until she let go how much it fucking hurt when she did that.